


The Descent

by gothjan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell, Psychological Torture, Torture, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothjan/pseuds/gothjan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Screaming was the last and first thing he heard as the ripping, snarling mass of Hell Hounds tore him to shreds. One minute, he was on the floor, surrounded by his own blood, and the next, he was suspended by hooks and wires, digging into muscles and tendons and pulling in every direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Descent

Screaming was the last and first thing he heard as the ripping, snarling mass of Hell Hounds tore him to shreds. One minute, he was on the floor, surrounded by his own blood, and the next, he was suspended by hooks and wires, digging into muscles and tendons and pulling in every direction.   
Lights flickered and crashed, reminding him of ferocious thunderstorms. The cries of his fellow sufferers echoed all around him, and it was only then that he realized that he had joined them in their hellish symphony. An acrid stench swallowed up his senses, smelling of burnt human tissue and metallic blood. It was then that he was approached by a snarling mass of black smoke that took shape before his eyes.  
Here is where the true pain began. The black smoke introduced itself by carving its name into his chest. Through the blood and torn tissue, he barely made out "Alistair". It chuckled as it peeled off the skin connecting the letters, wrenching it off only to swallow the skin in front of his eyes. It hummed at the taste, and began the indelicate process of peeling the rest of it off and ingesting the torn scraps. He struggled against the cords, trying to get away from the never ending pain and screaming. Screaming.  
A lifetime had passed before the smoke was finished with its task, before it started peeling away again, going through muscle, then bone. and finally to his organs, until the only thing left was just the consciousness that he held. It was at this moment that the smoke spoke for the first time.  
"A Winchester, hmm?" Smoke trailed past the mass as it sneered down at him. " I never would have imagined that I could be the artist who would decorate these walls with your blood. Tell me, have you enjoyed the modeling session?" The smoke caressed him as it spoke, burning his soul as its tendrils passed over him. "How I would love to see a Winchester in action. I would teach you my ways, get you off my table, if you would only do one thing for me."  
The man pressed against his restraints, pulling at the hooks that held him in place.  
"All you would need to do, is pick up my knife." The man recoiled, and as he had no mouth, he could only think NO.  
The smoke curled in the air as it laughed, and suddenly the man was whole again, and the process began anew.  
For what seemed like centuries, he was torn apart, asked this same question, put back together and torn apart all over again. The never ending pain, the burning, cutting, tearing pain, slowly eviscerated his mind, until it was the only thought, the only presence he ever knew. After years of being asked, he had broken down, had enough.  
A sobbing yes came out, and immediately, the hooks retracted, and he fell into the never ending abyss until he came across another who was bound as he was for all that time. With no hesitation, he began cutting, tearing, burning, as he had been for all those years. It surprised him how little he felt about it. How relieved he was, that as long as he continued to slice, he was no longer in the other's place.   
After a while, he started to hear metal clashing, growing closer and closer, and the flashes of light that had always surrounded him became more frequent, until, as he was digging the heart out of an armless body, light began to encircle him.  
He looked up from the seething mass of pain, and beheld a bright light that almost seared his eyes. It reached out to him, a powerful, and yet calming presence, and placed its hand on him.   
"Dean." The word caressed his soul, as the light restored his mind and body as it began its ascent, pulling him with it. Up and up, they went, passing battlefields of corpses and millions of suspended bodies. The sounds of the otherworld faded away until all he knew was the presence of the light, that warm, kind light.  
He opened his eyes to darkness.


End file.
